


Private Dancer

by citizenjess (givehimonemore)



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Crossdressing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-03
Updated: 2012-01-03
Packaged: 2017-10-28 20:44:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/312009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/givehimonemore/pseuds/citizenjess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Toki discovers a hidden talent. Spoilers through "Tributeklok."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Private Dancer

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for ftw302 for Hearts & Guts 2010. My recipient is a self-proclaimed fan of crack, and of Toki secretly being a "big ol' perv" and/or a "sexy beast," so I only hope I've appeased her. Title is from an old Tina Turner song. Naturally, the character "Wanda" is meant to be a bit of an homage to Ms. Nutbush City.

He was almost free, having tugged open the heavy double doors of Mordhaus with a small huff of triumph, when a booming voice gave him reason to pause. "Hey. Where are you going?" Nathan Explosion rumbled at him, hulking in a nearby archway.

Toki Wartooth struggled to keep a straight face. He was a terrible liar, and everybody in Dethklok knew it. "Ums, I ams just goings to astroknauts classes," he mumbled. "For to bes an astroknaut." He had lied about becoming an astronaut once, back when the others found out that he was pretending to be Skwisgaar in a Dethklok tribute band. He was counting on the fact that they had all forgotten about that. It had, after all, been over two months ago.

Sure enough, Nathan did not appear to find anything suspicious about his lie, even as he accompanied it with some shuffling and refused to meet the front man's beady glare. "That's cool," Nathan said. Then, a moment later: "Wait. Isn't astronaut class on Thursdays?"

"Its was changed," the rhythm guitarist squeaked.

"Oh. Okay. Well, have fun," Nathan shrugged.

"Yous too," Toki gasped, and nearly collided with the door in his rush to coordinate slipping through the opening.

*

He arrived at his destination a half hour before he was due on stage, entering through the back entrance. The handful of Klokateers he had employed and sworn to secrecy for this endeavor had all let out hood-muffled snickers when he asked them to drive up "to the rears", but Toki hadn't gotten why it was funny.

He was greeted by his fellow performers, upon which he shed the heavy hood he'd thrown on - one of several precautions for his own safety and anonymity; the other was showing up in a non-descript, tan car rather than a limo or the band's usual flashier fare - and began suiting up. In place of his usual jeans-shirt-boots combination, his dancer's ensemble included a midriff-baring top, a miniskirt, and tall, strappy heels. Wanda, one of the club's regulars helped him with his make-up, and showed him how to stuff a bra and tuck in his sac.

He'd first happened on the club when Dethklok had been strapped for cash. He and Skwisgaar were supposed to go on-stage together, but Skwisgaar had made a sweep of Amateur Night's smattering of GMILF patrons, and declared that Toki was on his own. At first, Toki had been nervous about people thrusting money into his crotch and being hooted at. Eventually, however, he realized that it was what he'd always somewhat imagined being lead guitarist to be like; he was the center of attention, for once. Everyone loved him.

Later, as he'd pulled crumpled bills from the creases of his tiny, shiny underwear and ass-crack, the club's manager had sized him up. "You were good," he told Toki, puffing a fat cigar in his face. "Prolly do better as a lady, though. Ever thoughta doin' drag?" As it turned out, Toki was not the club's first male-pretending-to-be-female stripper. Dethklok was no longer hurting for money, but Toki had quickly become attached to the attention. In truth, he frequently worried that he didn't have the street cred his fellow band mates did; he knew he couldn't hold a candle to Skwisgaar when it came to guitar playing, and he'd had little interest, pre-Dethklok, in being a rock star. Having hobbies outside of death metal seemed like something of a necessary precaution.

"Honey, where are you tonight?" Wanda's voice crackled from too many years of smoking; she snapped her fingers a couple of times in Toki's face, and he blinked. "You need more eye liner, babe," she told him. The crescents of her long, fake nails against the side of his face made him squirm. "You should really think about trimmin' that mustache," she added. She held her hands up in mock-surrender at the withered glare she received in response. "I know, I know, they're implants."

*

"I'm bored," William Murderface declared loudly, chest-deep in the band's personal hot tub. He scowled. "It's Friday night, and I'm sitting here with you dildos. Again!"

Pickles, who had been giving the bassist a back rub, looked hurt. "Geez, a little below the belt," he frowned.

Murderface rolled his eyes. "I waschn't talking about YOU," he scoffed. He gestured at Skwisgaar and Nathan. "I mean thesch asscholes."

"Whats dids we dos?" Skwisgaar demanded, his fingers lazily thrumming the strings of his ever-present guitar.

"Nothing!" Murderface yelled, punching the water in the hot tub with a balled fist. "It was an expression, Jesusch!"

Nathan glowered. "Hey, no splashing, asshole," he rumbled, and then splashed Murderface to make his point.

"Hey!" Murderface and Pickles yelled in unison. Quickly, things escalated into a full-scale water fight. Skwisgaar was the last to join in, taking pains to set his guitar down a ways away from the action. "Fuck, it juscht went up my nose!" Murderface howled.

"Guys," Nathan said, and placed his palms flat on the surface of the water. "This is totally not metal. Also, Murderface is right: We're acting like a bunch of homos." He inclined his head forward. "Let's call a truce, okay?"

Pickles and Skwisgaar both nodded. "I don't know if I truscht you," Murderface lisped. Moving as one, Nathan, Skwisgaar and Pickles shoved his head under the water. He came up sputtering and swearing. "FUCK ALL OF YOU!" he spat. Nathan and Pickles high-fived. Muttering to himself, Murderface climbed out of the hot tub and began toweling himself off.

"Don't be that guy," Nathan snorted at him.

"It juscht so happensch that I have something better to do than hang around with you asscholes all night," Murderface huffed.

"Internet porn is not a step up, Murderface."

"Ha ha, you're scho funny." Murderface picked up his boots and clothing, glaring when he realized they had not avoided being part of the water fight. He put them on anyways, however. "Well, schee you douchebagsch later," he announced.

"Waits," Skwisgaar said suddenly. "Cans you hands me my guitars?" Murderface did. Then with a flourish, he stomped out of the room. "He ams justs goings to masturbamates and stabs at things," Skwisgaar offered. Nathan snickered.

"Hey," Pickles said suddenly, several minutes later. "When was the last time anybody saw Toki?"

Nathan's face took on an expression of deep concentration. "Wait, I know this," he murmured. "Oh yeah. He's at astronaut school."

"Oh." Pickles looked as if he wanted to add something, but eventually just shrugged. "Well, good for him."

*

The strip club was fairly busy by the time Murderface arrived, still in a bad mood, but mostly dry. He snarled at the bouncer as they made eye contact. Around the establishment, he could feel eyes on him; people knew who he was, of course, but it was rare for him to get approached unless he had Nathan or Skwisgaar with him. He had even once been asked to move so someone could snap a photo with their phone of the lead guitarist. Fans were assholes.

He made his way immediately to the bar, where pointed eye contact earned him a fairly immediate drink. (He tried not think about how much faster it would have gotten to him if he'd been pretty much any other member of Dethklok.) Once his ego had been soused a bit, Murderface ventured over towards the stage. Popular or no, having a wad of cash in his pockets still got him somewhere.

One of the regulars finished grinding on a pole and tottered confidently off of the stage, to a smattering of applause. "Give it up again for Mandy Candy," a bored-sounding DJ offered. A bass riff began pumping from the speakers to something bland and electronic. "And now, put your hands in your wallets and get ready for a Club Poon newcomer ... BUNNY!"

Murderface looked up as strobe lights began flashing. From behind a cheap-looking velvet curtain, "Bunny" appeared, lithe and pale. Long, bare limbs stuck shyly out of black, faux leather clothing; her hair was pulled into two long tails, the moniker explained. Murderface blinked. There was something oddly familiar about her, he decided. He signaled for another drink and sat back to take her in.

*

Toki swiveled his hips to the rhythm. He noticed a hand waving in the air, fisting a couple of bills. He began moving towards his potential clientele, and then gasped a little when he saw who it was. "Oh nos," he hissed under his breath. "Murderfaces!" Sure enough, the bassist lounged in one of the probably jizz-soaked chairs close to the stage, leering at Toki - Bunny - like a piece of meat. Toki stumbled a little, expecting his cover to be blown any minute; instead, Murderface made a growling noise at him.

"Hey, sexy lady." Murderface's fingers drummed against the chair's arm rests. He crooked a finger. "Why don'tcha come over here and stay a while." Realizing that he was going to blow his own cover, Toki forced himself to give Murderface a lap dance. There were rarely enforced rules at Club Poon involving physical contact with the dancers, so Toki wasn't surprised when he felt Murderface's hand on his ass. At the same time, it did not make him particularly happy. He outright squirmed when he felt a pinch.

"You're adorable," Murderface cooed. His hand slid down Toki's leg. "Do you do ... private partiesch?"

"Ums, what dids you haves in minds?" Toki squeaked, pitching his voice higher than usual. The roll of bills sliding into his underwear gave him his answer.

"Meet me backschtage after your schet, schweetheart." Murderface's breath was a combination of beer nuts and hot garbage. Toki gulped and nodded.

*

At breakfast the next morning (afternoon), Nathan, Pickles and Skwisgaar eyed Murderface suspiciously. The bassist had spent the past ten minutes sensuously buttering an English muffin, and was now tenderly cradling the knife as though it were a cherished pet. "Sos ams you freeballings agains?" Skwisgaar ventured.

Murderface studied his reflection in the knife blade. "Maybe I schould grow a beard," he mused.

Nathan raised an eyebrow. "Why are you so happy all of the sudden? Did your grandmother fall in the bathtub again or something?"

A condescendingly placating hand patted the front man on the shoulder. Nathan growled. "Oh, Nathan," Murderface swooned benevolently. "Schomeday you, too, will know the joysch of true love."

"What are you talking about?" Nathan rumbled, put off by Murderface's strange behavior.

Murderface, however, was unfazed. "Guysch, I take back everything I ever said about you all being schtupid, ugly humpsch. You can't help being ugly." With that, he left, a notable bounce to his step.

"Ugh," Nathan remarked, several minutes later. "That guy's such a douche."

Pickles looked up suddenly. "Anyone seen Toki yet today?"

"Nope," Nathan replied promptly.

"Nopes," Skwisgaar added, indifferent.

"Ah." Pickles chewed a large bite of cereal. "Okay."

*

When Murderface cut out early the following Friday, Nathan decided that they ("like, the three of us, since Toki's at astronaut school") should follow him. "He's been insufferable," he complained to Pickles and Skwisgaar. "The other day, he asked if he could draw me a bath."

"Yeah, he's totally freakin' me out," Pickles asserted. "Like, I'm pretty sure I caught him writin' a love letter the other day."

"How do you know it was a love letter?" Nathan asked slowly.

"He didn't just draw dicks all over it like he does with the grocery list."

"Oh. Well, there you go."

As they wound their way through Mordhaus' extensive infrastructure, they came upon Charles Ofdensen, their manager and lawyer. "Nathan, Pickles, Skwisgaar," the CFO nodded at them. He seemed to note the keys balled in one of Nathan's fists. "Going somewhere, I see?"

"Yeah, it's Friday night," Pickles asserted.

"Ah," Charles intoned.

"Ja, because that's whats normals jack-offs dos, goes outs on thes weekends," Skwisgaar added defensively.

"I'm not saying they don't," Charles shrugged.

"Yeah, I bet you're not saying it," Nathan glared.

Charles raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"What?"

Charles pinched the bridge of his nose. "Well, anyways, have fun."

Nathan gaped at him. "Aren't you even going to ask what we're doing that's so much better than what you're doing?" he demanded.

"Uh, okay." Charles blinked at them. "What are you doing?"

"Uhhh." Suddenly, it did not seem prudent to incriminate themselves. Nathan scratched his head. "Um. Well, whatever we're doing, it most certainly doesn't involve making fun of Murderface."

"Nope, not at all," Pickles offered eagerly.

"I see." Charles stared at them. They stared back. Skwisgaar scratched his nose. "Well, 'bye."

Once they were safely inside Mordhaus' multi-level private parking garage, they were faced with yet another obstacle. "How are we s'posed to know where he went?" Pickles asked. They looked around the premises. Finally, Pickles called out to a random Klokateer: "Hey, douchebag!" A couple of hooded heads turned. "Do you know where Murderface is?"

"Lord William requested transportation to Club Poon, sire." The Klokateer bowed reverently. The band ignored him.

"I knows where that ams," Skwisgaar volunteered. Together, they tromped over to the Murdercycle.

"Let's go," Nathan grunted.

*

Fully garbed as "Bunny", Toki peeked out from behind the main stage curtain. It was a sizeable crowd, and he was set to go on after several other dancers had warmed them up. Nervously, his gaze swept the room. He breathed a sigh of relief. So far, so good.

"Honey, you have a visitor." Wanda's gravelly voice sent his heart plummeting. Sure enough, Murderface elbowed his way past Wanda's robust frame. He was carrying a cluster of long-stemmed red roses, and seemed to be wearing some sort of gel in his hair.

"Bunny, baby!" he cried, and Toki tried not to recoil when Murderface planted a messy kiss on his cheek. He thrust the roses into Toki's arms. "Thesche are for you."

"Ohs, thanks you," Toki remarked in high falsetto. He made a show of looking at his bare, watchless arm. "Ohs, looks ats the time," he said, squirming. "Is almosts my sets."

Murderface cupped his cheek, forcing his face up a little against his will. "Hey," he said seriously, "I'll be here when you get back." Then before Toki could pull away, Murderface kissed him, fat tongue probing between Toki's lips. Apparently, Murderface had eaten beef jerky today. When he finally managed to extract himself, Murderface slapped him on the ass. "Love you, baby," he grinned.

*

"How do you know about this place?" Nathan asked Skwisgaar. He and the burly bouncer growled at one another. The front man wrinkled his nose. "It's kind of a shithole."

"Ja, the womens ams a mixed bags, too," Skwisgaar lamented. "Theys were terribles on Amantours Nights."

"Dude, that's 'cause they're amateurs," Pickles chimed in. "Like, I think that's what that means." He looked up at the stage as "Blow Me Bubbles" was introduced. "This music sucks," the drummer commented a moment later. "I'm gonna get drunk." He sauntered off towards the bar.

"We should look for Murderface," Nathan suggested to Skwisgaar. The Swede's attention was all for a middle-aged stripper who had made eye contact, however. "Ugh, she looks like a leather purse," Nathan blanched.

"My kinds of gals," Skwisgaar said appreciatively. He held out his arm and it was taken; then he was off in a flurry of imported cologne and flowery deodorant that Nathan could tell was not working. Sighing, the singer looked around. In truth, he hated talking to people unless he absolutely had to. Since he was a celebrity, he figured this greatly lowered the risk of needing to actually ask for things that he wanted, like sex and beer. It was simply an understanding to the world that Nathan Explosion wanted these things, and so he usually got them.

"We've got a special treat for you lucky bastards tonight," Club Poon's regular DJ crowed. Nathan groaned; he hated disc jockeys on principle. "She's here and hoppin' from somewhere cold to make you warm ... it's Bunny!" From a distance, Nathan took in the act. She wasn't the greatest, he thought, but she was decent.

Bunny's first song ended with her straddling the stage's lone stripper pole. As the strobe lights changed pattern and a new beat started up, a stocky figure hitched a leg up and tumbled onto the stage. "Ladies and gentlemen!" Murderface shouted; Bunny hid her face. The music and strobe lights continued. "Hey, hey! Turn that down, people are tryin' to give a schpeech here!" Murderface yelled. Abruptly, the music stopped, the noise continuing to ring in Nathan's ears. In place of wildly moving lights, a single, white strobe focused on Murderface, who turned to Bunny.

"I juscht wanna schay that thisch isch an incredible woman," Murderface yelled. By now, everybody in the club had tuned in to watch the spectacle. Getting down on one knee, the bassist grabbed up a small box from his pocket. "Bunny," he said melodramatically before opening it, "Would you do me the honor of being my wife?"

Nathan gaped. He obviously wasn't drunk enough. Beside him, Pickles sidled up, an open beer in hand. "You asshole," Nathan shouted. "You getting married is totally going to mess up the band dynamic." He grabbed Pickles' beer and took a large gulp, ignoring the drummer's protest.

Murderface recoiled a little, obviously not expecting to see any fellow Dethklok members witness his proposal. "I can do whatever the fuck I want," he spat, recovering quickly. "You don't own me." His brow furrowed. "You schould be happy for me," he sulked. "You should be glad that I've found schomeone to schare my life with."

"Yeah, but dude ... she's a stripper," Pickles finally settled on.

"Ja, Murderface." Skwisgaar sauntered over, Leather Purse still on his arm, albeit looking significantly more disheveled than she had only scant minutes ago. "Takes it froms me. Theys ams not the rights persons to gives your hearts to. Theys will loves you and then theys leaves you." Skwisgaar's partner did not seem bothered by this characterization.

"Yeah," Pickles continued. He polished off his drink, holding the empty bottle by the neck, and then gestured at Bunny. "Besides," he added, "That's Toki."

The bassist's face was a kaleidoscope of expressions. "What the ..." he finally sputtered, standing up. "You ... I ... Toki!" he finally yelled, pointing accusingly at the rhythm guitarist, who blinked meekly at him. "What the fuck!"

"He didn'ts knows?" Skwisgaar whispered to Nathan. Nathan shrugged.

"Why the fuck did you let me let you give me a hand job in your dressing room, asshole?"

"I thoughts you knews!"

"THEN WHY DID YOU DO IT?"

"I AMS WAS PLAYINGS A ROLES, MURDERFACES!"

"DUDE, THAT'S NOT COOL! YOU'RE GAY! YOU'RE GAY AND YOU LIED ABOUT ASTRONAUT SCHOOL! YOU'RE A GAY LIAR AND YOU'RE STILL NOT AN ASTRONAUT!"

"YOU AMS GAY! YOU AMS GAY AND YOU AMS A BAD KISSER!"

"FUCK YOU!"

"I KNOW YOU AMS WANTS TO, BUT WHAT AMS ARE I?"

"I WANT MY MONEY BACK, ASSHOLE!"

"SORRYS, NO RETURNS, MURDERFACE."

"WHAT? WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT MEAN-"

"This is amazing," Nathan remarked. Pickles signaled for a bartender, who brought over fresh bottles of booze for him, Skwisgaar and Nathan. "Cheers, fuckfaces," Nathan announced, and they clinked their bottles together and drank.


End file.
